


The way (It's a complicated profession)

by AnotherAmericanTragedy_20



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Clone Wars (2003) - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: AU, Anakin Skywalker is the Chosen One, Anakin Skywalker is the Mandalorian, Bounty Hunter Anakin Skywalker, More tags when I think of them lol, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:47:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27547084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherAmericanTragedy_20/pseuds/AnotherAmericanTragedy_20
Summary: Bang. "Run Ani- go!" Bang. "We will teach you the way." Bang. "The Mandalorians aren't a race- it's a creed." Bang. "Bounty hunting is a complicated profession." Bang. "I can either bring you in hot, or cold." Bang. "This is the way." (OR: Mos Espa is attacked by terrorists. Somehow, the Mandalorians are there. Anakin Skywalker is the only survivor. Only, Anakin Skywalker doesn't exist anymore. Now he's just The Mandalorian.)
Relationships: Baby Yoda & Yoda, Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV) & Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker & Yoda, The Mandolorian & Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 2
Kudos: 46





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo... I was really awake last night- and my mind did this. Beware the Frozen Heart is on unintentional hiatus- but only for about another week or so. The next chapter of this should be up by tomorrow- or today if I get impatient enough. I'm mashing up timelines, but it'll all be explained in the story. Enjoy!
> 
> (EDIT: The style in which I write the prologue is only for that chapter, I'll go back to my usual writing style for the rest of them story.)

Yjrek Tuygaef (A/N: Pronounced Yeh-juh-reek Thai-gafe to anyone who’s interested. I will start saying how I pronounce my Star Wars OC names, because making up names is fun!) didn’t enjoy the screams of terror from his victims, contrary to popular belief. He didn’t enjoy the way they cried, the way they begged for mercy. He only enjoyed the money he got from selling them off to new masters. Even that wasn’t true. He only enjoyed the money because of what it bought him.

Drugs, wondrous drugs. He loved being under the influence, the freedom, the careless attitude he could give towards anyone. Sometimes, if he got a particularly good one, he would play with the sex slaves he sold, the pretty ones, the ones with the lekkus were always the best. Twi’Leks, Togrutas, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the blissful relief both brought him, the intercourse, and the drugs.

He walked through the Guild Center, to where Greef Karga sat, patiently (or impatiently) as ever. He already had the chip in his hand.

“Yjrek, my boy! How are you? Come, come, have a drink.” Yjrek looked up at the human, all kind smile (that was a fake, no one in the Guild had a real smile.) and warm eyes. He ran a hand over his buzzcut, and went back to turning the chip in his hands. He gestured to the service droid behind the counter, and the mechanical being brought over a bottle of Geonosian Vodka, and two small glasses.

Greef threw his head back, swallowing his first shot with the ease of a practiced drinker. Yjrek did it even more fluently. 

“My friend, how have you been? It has been a while since I’ve last seen you around here- not working at other places, I hope?” The tone was light enough, but you could hear the underlying threat to the words, You don’t do enough jobs, I don’t get my cut. I don’t get my cut, you don’t keep your head.

“Aye, none fo’ me. Jus’ been visiting a’ound, do’in the pleasures.” If Greef looked uncomfortable at the mention of “pleasures” he didn’t show it. You couldn't show much around this business, anyway.

He glanced around the bar. A server droid behind the counter, dishing out drinks. Bounty Hunters making deals with the suppliers, the never-ending argument of “Fifty-fifty? I do all the work, I get ninety!”

A more focused, more intelligent man would have noticed the imperfections. The dirt in every corner, the filth that practically radiated off everyone you saw. Bounty hunting was not for the faint of heart, he’d tell you that much. No one chose this life- not unless they had nothing to lose- or maybe they had everything, and that’s why they were here.

But Yjrek Tuygaef was not an intelligent man. If he had been, he would have noticed the looks he received from the rest of the hunters, the way they played with the chips in their hands, and how a familiar blue-skinned face would appear along the holograms of the job offers. So he went along in his blissful ignorance, ignoring the way Greef looked at the others, almost as if screaming, “not yet.”

“So, what’ve ya go’ fo’ me this time, ‘arga? You’re ‘ight, it’s been a while.” Greef grinned.

“That it has my friend, that it has. This one I believe you’ll enjoy, in fact. It’s a Twi’Lek, like you requested. I do listen, try to pair the best clients with the best kind of work. There’s a whole colony of them on Ryloth, you get ‘em here, unharmed, carbonite, however you want to transfer. The prize money’s seven hundred peggat. That’s, of course, if we split it sixty/forty. You get the larger portion, of course.”

Yjrek frowned as his blue face scrunched up, attempting to do the arithmetic in his head.

“Aye, I’ll take the job- but fo’ eighty/twenty.”

“Sixty three/thirty seven.”

“Seventy five/ wenty five.” Greef sighed. 

“You drive a hard bargain my friend- but I accept.” He slid the chip across the table, the smooth black technology strange, and yet not, against the dirty metal surface. 

Yjrek pocketed the chip, feeling the familiar weight of a bounty in his pocket. He grinned a grin, one with too many teeth. Greef acknowledged his departure with a brief nod of his head. 

Yjrek was able to make it to his ship, before anything happened. Yjrek was able to make it off the planet, without anything happening. Yjrek was able to make it several parsecs, without anything happening. Yjrek was able to make it to Yyloth, without anything happening. Yjrek was not able, however, to notice the strange addition of multiple trackers to his ship, his blaster, and his chip. 

Here’s the thing- not all bounty hunters are smart, per se. They just have a blaster, and if they point it at you- it looks intimidating enough that you go with them. Here’s the thing- Yjrek Tuygaef was a pretty terrifying figure- dark blue skin and large muscled biceps and too many sharpened teeth. But Yjrek wasn’t, as stated, very intelligent.

Yjrek made his way to Ryloth just fine. It was when he exited the ship that created a problem. You see, that was when multiple starships entered the atmosphere. Yjrek wasn’t a complete idiot, of course, so he knew that he was being chased.

Did he know he had an incredibly large bounty on his head? No. Did he know that Darth Sidious placed that bounty on his head, so that he could find a personal bounty hunter that he trusted, and would hand-select them to assassinate Senator Amidala? No. But he did know that staying outside meant no cover, and no cover meant dead. 

So he raced to his ship- but not in time, for said ship (Pretty Ladies Ass', not the most appropriate name) happened to blow up where it was just lying several yards away. It was a piece of pre-Genosian junk, however, so for most- they probably would've appreciated it blowing up. What did this mean for Yjrek? That meant he had to run. 

However, Yjrek did not get very far before the species with the green skin with the red horns had aimed a blaster at his face, and then that person got a blaster to their neck, and the green-skinned man was dead, and the square-jawed women was looking to kill him now. This, of course, made Yjrek more scared. He was wanted dead, or alive.

So Yjrek did what most bounty hunters do best- fire random blaster bolts and escape while everyone runs for cover. 

After a while of running, he noticed something strange. There was no blaster fire. No footsteps running after him. He stopped, and looked around, trying to examine the terrain. That was when he heard a distinctive thud behind him.

“I can either bring you in warm, or cold.”


	2. Chapter 2: The Mandalorian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I just couldn't wait! And I just watched episode three- SO YOU'LL GIVE ME BO-KATAN AFTER I JUST FINALLY GOT OVER SATINE, ANDD THEN YOU MENTION AHSOKA, SURE, BUT I HAVE TO WAIT A WHOLE 'NOTHER WEEK TO-
> 
> Well, enjoy!

The Mandalorian walked back to the Razor Crest, keeping his blaster pistol aimed at the back of Yjrek Tuygaef’s head. The man said nothing as they walked, but had attempted to escape twice already- hence the blaster bolt he let “accidentally” graze his right arm.

The thudding of Yjrek’s boots was almost deafening, it was a miracle this hunter survived for as long as he did in the Guild.

They walked up the ramp of the ship, and as soon as the door closed, the man received an Amban Rifle hilt to the head, and a lovely freeze in Carbonite. He was honestly just too tired to deal with the man’s brooding right now.

He climbed up to the cockpit, and set the navi-computer back to the location of his next bounty. That was the way, after all.

***

Three planets and three bounties collected later, he was back at the Guild. He made his way down the ramp, letting the droids collect the carbonite slabs as he walked towards the bar.

He sat down in the seat across from Greef Karga, where Tuygaef had sat just days before. Greef looked absolutely thrilled.

“Mando! So good of you to make it! Here, here, let’s get you a drink, and then we’ll talk business.” The Mandalorian said nothing, choosing to stare at the human through his helmet instead. Greef took his sweet time polishing off his drink, rambling on and on about the Guild this, and the Mandalorian that, while his companion stayed silent. Eventually, Greef slid the credits across the counter. 

The Mandalorian took the bag in his hand, feeling the weight, before placing it back on the table.

“This isn’t the amount we agreed on.” **(A/N: The Mandalorian will sound like** **Din Djarin.)** Greef looked guilty, but laughed it off.

“Mando, Mando, always noticing the little things. You finished the job much earlier than expected, my friend. I’m afraid I don’t have the amount of credits yet.” There was silence.

“I can pay you in Calamari Flan- but only seventy five percent.” The Mandalorian sat still as Greef placed the circular currency in a stack in front of himself.  He was silent as Karga pushed the stack forward, just shy of being halfway across the metal surface that separated them. 

He made no other motion besides picking up one gloved hand to take the cash in front of him. Greef’s face split into a wide grin.

“I’m glad we can agree.” The colleague (if you could even classify what they did as work) didn’t do anything, except ask,

“The job?” Greef seemed a little put off.

“Of course, The Mandalorian, always ready to get back to the job. That’s what makes you one of our best hunters, you know.” If he was expecting a response, he got none.

“Hmm. I have a bail jumper, a bail jumper,  _ another _ bail jumper, a wanted smuggler-”

“I’ll take them all.” He reached out a hand to grab the chips, but the gloved left hand of Greef Karga stopped him.

“No, hold on.” The Mandalorian titled his head, waiting.

“There is one job.” The Mandalorian tilted his head slightly, breathed in, and said,

“Let’s see the puck.” 

“No Puck.” The Mandalorian waited. Then,

“Face to face. Direct commission. Deep pocket.” 

“Underworld?” Greef glanced down at the table, and back up at him.

“All I know is no chain code.” He reached into his pocket, and pulled a rectangular object out.

“Do you want the chit, or not?” They waited in silence, as the rest of the bar buzzed with life around them. Then, the Mandalorian reached out and pulled the object from him. Greef had a look in his eyes that was a little too knowing.

***

He walked through the streets, past different species speaking in alien languages and beggars slumbering next to where they knew the food carts would be the next day. He dwindled closer and closer to the more shady parts of the city, past dirty buildings and roughened stone walls. Trash littered the sides of the streets as he descended a short stairwell, sunlight reflecting off his Beskar mask. 

He glanced back and forth around the alleyway. 

He waited until he found the door. He knocked twice, then stepped back, waiting. The droid came through the small metal panel to the left of the door, the eye-like camera blinking once, before retracting in on itself, the panel closing again. The door opened into a hallway that was entirely too eerie-looking for the Mandalorians taste. He stepped inside (A/N: Said the author, equally eerily…)

He followed a stout-looking droid to the end of a hallway, where a reinforced metal door sat, waiting, in it’s door frame. It slid open, revealing the storm troopers inside. The Mandalorian stepped inside the room. The door slid closed behind him. 

In the center of the room, facing the door, stood a desk. Sitting behind the desk was a weasel-faced, whitehaired man. 

“Greef Karga said you were coming.” His snide, nasally voice penetrated the silence of the room, with an accent the Mandalorian didn’t recognize. The bounty hunter stepped forward. The stormtroopers parted ways, keeping their blasters aimed towards the ground, fingers on the trigger.

“What else did he say?” Now that he was closer, he could see the fine quality of the robes, the imperial pendant resting over his heart proudly. 

“He said you were the best in the parsec.” A door on the side of the room opened, and a man stepped out. The Mandalorian pointed the rifle at his face in one fluid motion. 

“Freeze!” He heard one of the storm troopers call out. He remained in his position.

“No!” The man coward, placing his hands protectively over his head.  _ As if that would do him any good.  _ “Drop your weapons!” Another clone exclaimed, as the Mandalorian drew his blaster pistol with his other hand. 

“No, no, no, no, pardon. Uh, sorry. I- I didn’t mean to alarm.” The rounded glasses on his face shook slightly as he stuttered. The client stepped out from behind the deck.

“This is Doctor Pershing. Please excuse his lack of decorum.” The man tried to smooth over the incident. The Mandalorian didn’t move his weapons, only turning his head from side to side.

“His enthusiasm outweighs his discretion. PLease lower your blaster.” The Mandalorian didn’t budge.

“Have them lower theirs first.” One of the troopers scoffed.

“We have you four to one.” Even though they couldn’t see, behind the mask, the Mandalorian grinned.

“I like those odds.”

The weasel-like man stepped forward, neither friend, nor foe, at the moment.

“He also said you were,” he paused, probably hoping to bribe the Mandalorian,

“Expensive.” He stopped again. “Very expensive.” He stepped back. “Please sit.” He turned around, keeping one eye on the Mandalorian, while with one hand, making a gesture, and the guards lowered their blasters. He sat down in one of the chairs, placing his rifle across his lap. The doctor took a shuddery breath, and shifted in his position.

The client gazed straight at the beskar mask, placing a hand over a small folded piece of cloth, clearly covering something. He opened it, showing the rectangular slab of a piece of beskar steel, the same as the metal covering the bounty hunters face. 

“Beskar?” The man got a well concealed look of pleasure in his eyes at the surprise in the Mandalorian’s look. Whatever he had been expecting, it was not this. 

“Go ahead,” the snide voice encouraged, “It’s real.” The troopers looked on in anticipation as the Mandalorian took the metal in his hand, it making a screeching sound as it was dragged against the material of the table. 

He stared down at it in wonder, not that the others could tell. 

“This is only a down payment. I have a camtono of Beskar waiting for you, upon delivery of the asset.” Behind the mask, he mouthed the words, “a whole camtono?” Whoever this man was- he knew how to play the right cards. 

“Alive.” The doctor pipped up, finally contributing to something useful. 

“Yes, alive. Although, I acknowledge that bounty hunting is a complicated profession. This being the case- proof of termination is also acceptable for a lower fee.” The doctor gave a nervous glance at the Mandalorian, before turning back to the white-haired man.

“That is not what we agreed upon.” The client barely acknowledged him.

“I’m simply being pragmatic.” The Mandalorian waiting a second, then declared,

“Let’s see the puck.” The finely-dressed man got a hard look in his eyes.

“I’m afraid discretion dictates a less traditional agreement. We can only offer you a tracking fob.” The man leaned closer, challenging look in his eyes. The doctor stepped forward again, offering said fob to the hunter. He pocketed it.

“What’s the chain code?” Again, the client decided to make his life even harder.

“We can only provide the last four digits.” The Mandalorian stopped from where he was inputting the information on one of his cuffs on his wrist.

“Their age? That’s all you can give me?”

“Yes. They’re fifty years old. We can also give you last reported positional data. Between that, and the fob, a man of your skill should make short work of this.” So, now he decided to add the subtle compliments, along with the underlying challenge. This man was good, the Mandalorian would give him that. The Mandalorian stared at him for another second, before standing up. He turned around, and starting walking towards the door, when,

“The beskar belongs back into the hands of a Mandalorian. It is good to restore the natural order of things, after a period of such disarray, don’t you agree?” The Mandalorian didn’t even spare him a glance as he walked out.

***

He didn’t speak as he approached her, just sat down on the bench, and let her finish the current project she was working on. When she finished, she stood in front of him, and they exchanged a brief nod, before he sat down on the bench facing him. He placed the stack of  Calamari Flan in front of her, and next to it, the piece of beskar. It made a metallic “thud” as it was placed in front of her.

The armourer spoke as she picked it up. “This was gathered in the Great Purge.” The Mandalorian gave the briefest of nods as confirmation.

“It is good it is back with the Tribe.”

“Yes,” He agreed. She spoke again.

“A pauldron would be in order.” He nodded again.

“Has your signet been revealed?” He shook his head, ever so slightly.

“Not yet.” She acknowledged this.

“Soon.” And then she was working, revealing her tools, melting the Beskar. “This is extremely generous. The excess will sponsor many Foundlings.”

“That’s good. I was once a Foundling.” 

“I know.”

And she flipped a switch.

**_Bang._ **

“Run Ani- go!” He sobbed as he ran away, knowing now that he had stole his detonator, he would either get off the planet free, or-

**_Bang_. **

“We will teach you the way.” Explosions everywhere, people screaming, bleeding, and he could feel it. He wasn’t sure how- only that he could. Then they found him.

_**Bang**. _

“The Mandalorians aren’t a race- it’s a creed.” He was once told, in the early days of his training.

_**Bang**. _

“Bounty hunting is a complicated profession.” The first bounty he was sent to capture didn’t end well. For the bounty, that was.

**_Bang._ **

“I can either bring you in hot- or cold.” The first time he said that, those were the last words his bounty would ever hear, and blood bubbled between the dying man’s lips.”

**_Bang_.**

“This is the way.” A bounty once asked why he chose this life, and she was dead before she could even take her next breath.

Soon, the shoulder piece was ready. She picked it up with her blacksmithing tool, the still cooling metal radiating the heat of the dying ember.

She placed it as a smug fit over his left shoulder. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
